


The Trouble With Pixies, An Elriel Christmas Short

by noodlecatposts



Series: ACOTAR Christmas 2019 [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Complete, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Elain Archeron/Azriel Fluff, Elriel, Elriel Children, Fluff, Married Couple, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, elain x azriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: Short, fluffy Christmas fic about Azriel, Elain and their children.Inspired by a Tumblr prompt.
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Azriel, Elain Archeron/Azriel
Series: ACOTAR Christmas 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562683
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	The Trouble With Pixies, An Elriel Christmas Short

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is inspired by the same Christmas/Tumblr prompt list as my Feysand short. 
> 
> “I let the kids decorate the tree; then, when they go to bed, I completely start over. Because let’s be honest, they make a crap tree.”
> 
> Enjoy!

Azriel wasn’t surprised to find Elain on the couch, indulging in a glass of her favorite wine; she often treated herself so after a long day of minding after their unruly brood of children. Despite coming from two of the most mellow members of the Inner Circle, Azriel found their children to troublemakers, more and more so each day.

Being a parent was exhausting work. The longer he survived as one, the more he believed Rhys’s mother deserved sainthood. How she managed to raise three Illyrian misfits, primed and ready for chaos, Azriel didn’t know. And by herself too. He felt that some days, he barely scraped by; Elain spent plenty of days fending all by herself without him. She definitely deserved the wine.

However, Azriel was surprised to find that unruly brood of children still awake, despite the evening hour. The work on the schedule had been long-suffering, and Azriel was home later than he usually liked to be. He was confident that the children would be fed and off to bed by the time he got there, having missed dinner himself.

Yet, there they were, running amuck in the living room, decorating for the Winter Solstice. Elain watched after them peacefully, sipping at her wine

“Daddy!!!” Lark cries out when she sees her father. She darts for the front door, pumping her wings to launch herself at Azriel like a shooting star. 

“Oof!” The air whooshes from his lungs as his daughter collides with him. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Mommy is letting us decorate the tree!” She exclaims, dangling from his shoulders by pure force of will. Azriel wraps his arms around her with a laugh and carries her back towards the tree. 

“Lark is going a horrible job,” Ash tells him, expression surly.

Their son examines the Christmas tree like a warrior breaking down a battle map, all strategy and earnestness. After a moment's consideration, Elain and Azriel’s son places the silver bell that he holds onto a sturdy branch midway up the tree. (“No, no, Azriel,” Elain would say, “That one is _all_ you.”) Ash tilts his head thoughtfully, plucks a red ornament from its current place, and adjusts it to his liking. 

Elain is right. That one _is_ all Azriel, right down to the inky black hair. 

“Ash,” Elain warns, eyes full with affection. “That’s not nice to say.”

“The truth isn’t always pleasant,” the nine-year-old says ominously. Azriel’s been thinking lately that his son has been spending too much time with Amren, getting along to well with her brusque attitude; perhaps, they should start separating them at family events. 

“Sometimes, you have to take other people’s feelings into consideration before you speak,” Azriel chides, eyeing the starry-eyed daughter in his hands with protectiveness. Ash didn’t mean it, but it still hurt his sister’s feelings. Lark values her older brother’s opinion more than anything in her small, young life. Azriel presses a kiss to her temple, and Lark’s brown eyes—so like her mother’s light up, happiness returned. 

“You said never to lie,” his son looks upset at having been chastised by his father; the boy takes great pride in pleasing his father. When Ash notices his sister’s frown, guilt flashes in his hazel eyes, greener today than brown. “Sorry, Larkspur.” His apology rings sincere. “Come help me finish?”

Lark wiggles free of her father’s arms, coasts on sure wings to her brother’s side. “I forgive you,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ash looks utterly put out by the affection, his own wings drooping to the ground in defeat, and Elain giggles, amused by her children- and maybe just a little tipsy. 

Another watery giggle erupts in the room, echoing the laugh of her mother, and catching Azriel's attention. He turns to spy Clementine, curled up on a blanket, and drooling all over a wooden star. The object is meant to be decorative, something for a side table or the fireplace mantle, but it would seem that the youngest member of the household has laid claim to the item, teething rights invoked. 

“Hello there,” Azriel smiles, sweeping the child into his arms and cradling her close. It seems like only yesterday Elain was telling him she was pregnant again, surprising him with a new onesie—the one Clem now wears. There’s no way the child could be teething already. 

Clementine smiles when she recognizes her father, chatting in gurgles and giggles. She tugs at one of his ears, fascinated with them currently, and Azriel can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face. He gives her a little toss into the air, and she shrieks with delight, making Larkspur, and even Ash, giggle too.

When he looks up, he sees Elain sending him one of her soft, unamused expressions, reminding him of how she doesn’t like him to throw _her_ _children_. Azriel flashes her a cheeky grin. 

“How was your day?” Azriel asks, taking a seat by Elain, who snuggles into him quickly. He adjusts his positioning so that Elain fits into the crook of one arm, while Clem sits atop his knee, one hand on her for support. The toddler gurgles with delight, pleased with her new vantage point, and when Azriel bounces his knee, his daughter breaks into a beautiful giggling spree, one-toothed smile and all.

Ash is staring down the tree again, clutching a golden ornament like some sort of weapon. Their son picks a spot for the orb, places it there gingerly, and goes in search of another. Meanwhile, Lark takes his place, using her wings to reach the top of the tree; with either hand, she slams a blue ball and silver bell into place without caution. He looks to Elain, finds her sipping at her wine, and pretending not to notice the chaos. 

“Oh, just fine.” His wife says at last. Azriel raises a brow at her smooth words, and he looks back to Lark, covering herself in a golden garland she’s found. She decides to wear it like a scarf. Ash rolls his eyes, but their middle child just smiles, begins to strut around the room, putting on her own fashion show. Their wild child, that one. 

Elain smacks his thigh when she notices his look. “Let them have fun.”

“But it looks—“ Azriel chokes on his words when he meets the eye of his son; Ash looks prepared to challenge him to war if his father insults all their hard work. “Great, it looks great.”

Elain giggles and Clementine mirrors her. The babe doesn’t know what is funny, but she likes it when her mom laughs, wants to laugh along too. Azriel tickles the little girl beneath her small, still growing wings, and she squeals in surprise. 

The family spends the evening decorating the tree. Ash continues to lay siege to the middle section of the tree, the place that he can reach the easiest, while Larkspur conquers the rest, jamming ornaments wherever she feels like. Eventually, Clementine wiggles her way off Azriel’s lap, crawling over to join the fun, but when she starts yanking the adornments off the tree, Elain steals her away to the nursery, coaxes her to sleep.

Lark eventually loses interest in the game, as she is often wont to do, and she dozes off amongst her bed of garland. Ash persists with decorating until every ornament is to his liking, and then he slinks away into the shadows, but not without hugging his father and saying goodnight. 

In the end, the tree is... something. It looks more like Feyre’s and Cassian’s drunken handiwork than something Elain would keep in the house. 

*****

“You hate it,” Azriel teases later that night. He’s just come back downstairs, having tucked a snoring Lark into her real bed. In the living room, he's found Elain returned to the couch, staring down the tree with a familiar focus. Perhaps, Ash didn’t get all of that seriousness from him alone.

“No, I— I love it.” Elain sighs, rubbing at her temples. “They’re my children, and I love them—and their absolute wreck of a tree.” 

Azriel smiles knowingly, runs his hand up and down his wife’s back in soothing strokes. 

“Do you want to fix it?” He asks softly after Elain fails to look away from the monstrosity. She moans, pressing her face into her hands; Azriel waits for his wife to finish her internal battle.

“YES,” Elain pleads, finally looking at him. Azriel laughs, standing up from the couch and taking her hands in his own to help her up. 

Without further conversation, they get to work moving things around. Azriel straightens Lark’s garland work, and Elain sets about creating some sense of order to the ornaments. Even Ash’s decorating is a little askew, but neither parent would ever dare to challenge him so.

The couple works for a time in the quiet, comfortable kind of synchronization that comes from years of living and working side by side. Azriel finds himself watching Elain as she works, humming softly to herself and occasionally muttering aloud, working through where to put things. More than once, he is caught staring, but it always earns him a quick peck on the cheek; so, it’s worth it in the end.

Elain is all guilt once they’re finished; she runs her hands through her hair, staring at the fixed tree. “I’m a terrible mother. Ash asked to help me, and Larkspur was so excited. How could I say no? I never imagined—“

“Have you seen Larkspur’s fashion sense?” Azriel nods towards the garland, and Elain laughs, even as she smacks him lightly on the arm. 

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with her.” Elain places her hands on her hips, eyes the tree with a tired satisfaction. “That should do it, I think. Do you think they’ll notice?”

“Ash? Definitely.” Azriel tells her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “Those other two slackers? I’m willing to bet no.”

Elain leans into him, placing her hands over where his rest on her waist. She sighs deeply. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” Azriel kisses the top of her head. “Besides, if you didn’t do it yourself, it would’ve kept me up all night. I would’ve had to come down here anyway,” Azriel confesses with a wry smile. “This way, I can honestly say it was all your idea.”

Elain gasps, pinching at his wing. Azriel hisses at the sting, but his smile doesn’t fade. 

“Wicked thing!” She chides him. “You tricked me!”

Azriel laughs happily, amused by the sweet pout on Elain’s lips. He cups her face and catches that bottom lip with his own before she can protest. She tries any, her voice a muffled sound, but Elain gives up quickly, leaning into the kiss instead and wrapping a hand into his hair.

“Happy Solstice,” he whispers to her when they part. Elain beams.

“Happy Solstice, Azriel.” She tells him.

*****

Ash is filled with suspicion the next day when he discovers the magically corrected tree. He eyes it critically before looking to his father for an explanation; the Spymaster tells his son that the pixies must have come to fix it. They do that sometimes. Ash accepts the statement from his father and makes his way towards the breakfast table, but the boy mutters something about looking up pixie proofing methods at school that day.

Larkspur, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice, fully believing the masterpiece to be entirely of their own making. She beams with pride, babbles about how she wants to tell all of her friends.

When Elain carries Clementine downstairs that morning, the youngster likes the shiny bells; she gurgles happily. She manages to steal one, shaking it sporadically throughout breakfast to her older brother’s dismay.

*****

When the new year comes, they take down the tree. Ash attacks the task with the same intensity as he did the original assembly, but Lark cries the whole time, big fat crocodile tears. She doesn’t want the holidays to end, doesn’t want to put away all the sparkly décor and colors. Her little sister, Clementine, sniffles the whole time, too, clearly upset by her sister’s distress.

Elain soothes the hurt with cocoa and cookies, and Azriel curls up with his girls by the fire. Ash breaks out a large textbook to show his father; the title reads: The Trouble with Pixies. His parents share a fond look over his shoulder, and Elain agrees with her son that it _has to be done._ Her own little piece of revenge for her husband's tomfoolery.

Azriel loves every minute of it either way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
